


Waiting for Death

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: Death has come to grant a final wish to a very brave man.





	Waiting for Death

**Author's Note:**

> Aah. Why do I do this to myself.
> 
> This was loosely based on this prompt: "Death visits a character’s deathbed and asks for one final request. He rarely actually grants them, but this unusual request strikes a chord with him." Of course it immediately made me think of Arumat, and well, who would he be most likely to go be with at the end? Yeah.
> 
> Crowe would totally be the type to go beat on an Archfiend to save people's lives, too, heroic lummox that he is.
> 
> (No refunds on the feels. You read them, you keep them.)

A long time has passed since his arrival on Roak, and Crowe comes home one day to a prophecy.

He has never quite been one to put much stock in Eleyna's visions (much to her consternation), but even to his skeptical mind, this one is undeniably _different_. She has never spoken with an unease quite this penetrating or a seriousness quite this profound, and so he listens, seats himself gingerly on the worn wooden bench and reaches for the ever-present cup of tea without taking his eyes from the being of brilliant light that is Roak's prophetess; she speaks of ancient evil, of a world in ruins, a brave warrior and an ancient artifact, and it seems to resonate with _something_ deep in the corners of his mind in a way he is all too familiar with. It is sparking a determination he has only rarely felt before, a deep, smoldering resolve he knows it is useless to fight - as if he would even try, knowing this is something that, prophecy or no, he cannot and will not ignore.

His mind is made up.

He catches her as she collapses, as the light fades, and speaks to her when she wakes.

She is reluctant, concerned, as might be expected, but perhaps surprisingly, she does not try to dissuade him. She only warns him - once, twice, a third time just to be _completely_ certain - and when he does not falter, she closes her eyes for a moment and then tells him what he needs to know. The secret he holds within him that can reveal the path he must take, the location of the key to that metaphorical door, and what he must do when he _gets_ there; it is as if this is precisely what she expected of him, but he puts that thought out of his mind, silently reassures himself that he _would_ go even if not foretold by a prophecy he's still not really sure if he actually believes, and rises to go.

She rises with him, kisses him once and lets him absently trace the faint swell of her belly, lets him silently bid farewell to the child that has begun to grow within.

That done, he pushes open the wooden door and emerges into fading sunlight and birdsong.

***

It is precisely as she told him. The Eye of Truth, the glowing stone that he holds in his hands resonates with something primal deep within him, with the ancient bloodline that runs in him, and he finds he knows precisely how to use it without really knowing why, closing his eyes and concentrating hard to draw out its power into a seething maelstrom that surrounds him. It is so intense that he can't even open his eyes to look, but he doesn't need to - the Eye resonates with him and he can see without seeing, and it is through this not-quite-sight that he is guided to move, to take his first steps into a world unlike any he has ever seen before.

The malevolence that surrounds him is immediate, choking and suffocating, but it is nothing he cannot resist, and the Eye's brilliant burn in a pouch at his side gives him strength and courage as he draws the two blades at his back, activates them in a hiss of energy that seems to cut straight through the eerie fog that swirls all about him. He has no time to falter, he knows; the enemy will be on him the instant he takes even one more step, and so he is ready as he moves, the rhythm of the battle-dance burning bright in his blood. Ever onward, ever deeper, he does not stop, he does not rest; he _cannot_.

It is not long before he comes upon his goal, and despite his mind screaming at him beneath the surging fire in his veins that he cannot win, he fights.

He fights, and though he weakens the Archfiend greatly, he does not win.

Perhaps it is some small mercy that he is not destroyed right then and there, that he is left in a crumpled and bleeding heap but yet somehow still alive, somehow still conscious enough that he can still just think through the veil of agony that has descended on him - he must flee, he knows, and as if guided by some will not his own, his leaden hands once more draw out the Eye and he lets its magic flow through him in an agonizing torrent that burns and freezes in equal measures; he is almost certain he should not be able to stand this, and yet somehow he does, and the feel of the sinister atmosphere fading from around him is perhaps the best feeling of all as he prays with all his strength: _take me home_.

He feels sand beneath him as the Eye leaves him, barely conscious, barely _alive_ , and he thinks he can hear Eleyna's voice before feverish delirium blots out his senses.

***

By some miracle, he survives the night, but he is so pitifully weak and only getting weaker, and both he and Eleyna slowly begin to come to a depressing and yet inevitable conclusion as the days pass; not only has he lost the battle, he is soon to lose the war that is fighting to cling to his last shreds of life, to pay the ultimate price for what he has done. Yet he cannot bring himself to regret any of it, instead stubbornly clinging to the hope that he has perhaps prolonged Roak's survival, and that of its people, just a little longer - even if he is to lose his life for it, that is worth every last thing that he has done, and that soothes him in a way nothing else can.

There is one more thing that soothes him, too. It is, perhaps surprisingly, a prophecy.

Every night as he tosses restlessly in the sheets, malevolent fever gripping him in hellish waves, Eleyna sits beside him, and she repeats the words of the prophecy to him until he calms: at the moment his soul is to pass into the star ocean, an apparition of death will appear at his side to grant him a final wish, so that he may cross over peacefully into the world beyond life. It would perhaps be unsettlingly morbid to anyone else, but in his delirium, it reminds him of something he longs for, something he has regretted leaving behind ever since sacrificing himself to open the path for his friends - and as those thoughts flit restlessly through what remains of his conscious mind, they keep a tiny spark alight deep within him, a little bit of life he will not let be torn away. Not yet--

He does not know how much time passes, losing track of everything as he slips ever closer to the final moment of unconsciousness, but when he next opens his eyes, he is no longer in Eleyna's small, snug hideout; instead there are bright lights above him, a soft but strangely unyielding surface beneath him, and for a long moment he thinks he is hallucinating. This is a ship, a _familiar_ one that shouldn't even exist any more, and the confusion that wracks him is dizzying but the sudden feel of a hand grasping his brings him clarity and coherency. There is someone _there_ , holding his hand, simply watching him, and when he can finally focus his hazy eyes he finds the rush of emotion is nearly intolerable. Once more, it's just as Eleyna told him; the specter of death has come to grant his wish, and suddenly he feels peaceful, just finding the strength to curl his fingers round the ones that hold tight to him.

He knows, somehow, that this is the very last moment, and he welcomes it.

"Stay," he manages, a hoarse sound that is little more than a breath, heavy and aching in his chest and he coughs, forces out more words despite the toll it takes on his rapidly dwindling strength. "Please. Stay with me...till the end. Burn out...with me..."

There is no verbal answer for a long moment, but those fingers tighten on his just a little bit, and when the words finally come, they are just on the edge of hearing. "...I will. Now rest...Crowe."

The sound of his name on those lips brings an immeasurable joy; it is the last thing he feels before everything simply...stops.

***

Arumat does not release Crowe's hand for a very long while, even when it has gone limp in his, even when the faint pulse in the Earthling's chest has ceased and he no longer breathes. He cannot let go, he will not let go, his eyes closed in mourning and his free hand at his chest in a respectful gesture, those final raspy words tumbling through his head over and over again like a recording without end. _Stay with me. Burn out with me,_ they whisper endlessly, and he finds a not-so-distant memory teased loose from the very depths of his mind, words that he has held ever so dear since they were first spoken to him from those very lips.

 _I'll be there to witness the moment you finally burn out,_ he remembers, the distant echo of Crowe's voice in his head a sweet pain that cuts straight to his soul, and he smiles mirthlessly.

_Burn out with me..._

And he knows that finally, he has found what he has been seeking all this time.

He can go home.

***

Eleyna stands at the edge of the water, her hands resting gently on the curve of her belly, and looks up, her eyes closed tight as she cries words of grief to the sky.

Above her, there is a flash of light, the briefest wink of fire...and then, nothing.

When she has exhausted her tears, she leaves flowers on the shoreline, as she once told Meracle to do, and the waves carry them away as she turns and makes her mournful way home.


End file.
